


A Boy and His Fox

by 6hoursgirl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Babyfic, Episode: s08e13 Per Manum, F/M, Fluff, Gratuitous Smut, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6314524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6hoursgirl/pseuds/6hoursgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when two FBI agents have a platonic relationship based on trust and mutual respect...and an exchange of genetic material.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A personal experiment in trying *not* to write angst. Diverges from canon after Per Manum. Mostly unadulterated fluff with a touch of gratuitous smut in a series of vignettes. Dad!Mulder in season 10 broke my heart, and this is an attempt at self-soothing.

The door creaks open when she enters, startling him from a light sleep. Mulder murmurs an apology, standing, peering at her in the low light, searching for clues. Her expression is murky, unreadable, and a seed of doubt takes root in his stomach.

“It didn’t take, did it?”

She ducks her head, wavering. “It, uh…it did, actually.”

Mulder blinks, wondering if he’s heard correctly. “What? That’s…that’s amazing, Scully.”

“Yeah,” she says, still looking at the floor. “I…I almost didn’t believe it, but…”

She trails off, and Mulder steps forward, reaches out to touch her arm.

“This is good news, right?”

“It is,” she says, looking up. Her eyes are shimmering. “It really is.”

“Congratulations,” he says, watching her throat convulse, her half-smile trembling at the corners. He pulls her into an embrace, feels her heart thrumming like a live wire.

“It’s still early,” she says when she recovers. “I have…I have about ten weeks before I’m outside the average range for a miscarriage. I, uh, I’d like to keep this between us.”

“Of course,” he says.

She takes a shaky breath, and he can feel the world’s axis turning beneath them.

“Hey, we should celebrate,” he says. “My treat.”

“I, um, I feel a little queasy. I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy or what, but…I’m just going to lie down. I need some time.”

“Sure, Scully,” he says, deflating a little. “Whatever you need.”

She smiles. “And my treat, for that rain check. You’ve, ah, already done enough.”

He wants to tell her it could never be enough, but instead, he says, “I’ll get going, let you rest. Congratulations, Scully, I’m happy for you.”

“Mulder…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For…everything.”

He wants to say something profound, to tell her how much this means to him, but all he can manage is a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

“Excuse me,” Scully says, standing up from the meeting table. Her face remains neutral, her head held high as she takes her leave, but Mulder recognizes the quickening in her step that tells him she’s hurrying to the restroom. Again.

Mulder meets Kersh’s eyes for an uncomfortable moment before turning his attention to his yellow legal pad, pretending to scratch some notes as their boss drones on. Scully still hasn’t returned by the time the meeting ends. He finds her in the elevator on the way back to the basement.

“You OK?” he whispers, leaning in close.

“I’m fine,” she says, shaking a handful of Tic-Tacs into her palm and tossing them back.

He waits until they’re alone in the den of the basement office before asking again.

“I said I’m fine, Mulder,” she sighs, frowning at something on the desk. “It’s nothing.”

“The same ‘nothing’ that had you in the bathroom six times before lunch?”

She frowns. “Quit exaggerating.”

“No, I counted. It was seven, but you only did the thing with the mints six times, so I figured the seventh was just…you know. You sure you’re OK?”

“Morning sickness is a perfectly natural, if uncomfortable, affliction. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you should be flying, though? We can find a case closer to home. I can offload this investigation, Kersh is frothing at the mouth to give it to someone else, anyway—“

She holds up a hand, cutting him off. “We’ve been over this before. I’m pregnant, not dying. You’re hovering.”

“I’m not—“ he stops himself, biting his lip. “I’d feel terrible if something happened.”

“I know, and I appreciate that. I do,” she says, facing him, her eyes tired, her complexion slightly green. “But as much as I am your friend, I am also your colleague, and I’d like it if you’d treat me the same as you would any other agent.”

“But—”

“Good, glad that’s clear,” she interrupts, pressing a hand to her mouth, mumbling, “I’ll be right back.”

“And there you go again,” he mutters.

He sits down at his desk and opens his laptop, intending to review his case notes, but his mind wanders. He finds himself opening a web browser.

The next morning, he arrives at the office early with a grocery bag. The clicking of Scully’s heels on the concrete floor announces her arrival, and she turns the corner. She stops when she sees him, standing by the desk with his hands behind his back.

“Mulder…? What’s going on?”

“I did some research and swung by the pharmacy.”

She sighs, putting down her briefcase. “We’ve talked about this. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself—“

“I knew you’d say that,” he says. “And we both know it’s true, but I also know we’ve been out straight for the last three weeks, and you’re dead on your feet.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but he interrupts.

“I think what you want to say here is ‘thank you, Mulder.’”

“Thank you, Mulder,” she parrots drily. “But—“

He ignores her, begins pulling things out of the bag, starting with a large box of saltines.

“Organic, of course,” he says. “So you and the uber-Scully don’t go hungry. And there’s these lollipop things for morning sickness. They had ginger and lemon, I wasn’t sure which ones you’d like, so I got both. Sugar free.

“Sea bands,” he continues, drawing out a small plastic box. “Studies have shown applying pressure to specific points on the wrist to have a reductive effect on nausea. I know you think reflexology is crap science, Scully, but for two bucks, it’s worth a shot, right?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but he’s not done.

“Ginger ale with real ginger. Also organic,” he says, pulling out several bottles, followed by a small white one. “And I know you’re probably taking your vitamins, but did you know that a little extra B6 helps with nausea?” he says, rattling the pills for effect, pleased when her lips turn up in a smile.

“I got tea, the herbal kind. I know you miss your coffee, but if you add lots of cream and sugar and close your eyes…it’s still a shitty substitute, but it’s supposed to be good for you.

“And when all else fails…these,” he says, pulling out a cellophane bag.

“What are they?”

“Disposable toothbrushes. Peppermint flavor,” he says, holding them out. “You’re always saying Tic-Tacs are bad for your teeth.”

Her brow arches, but there’s an unfamiliar twinkle in her eye. It takes him a moment to realize she’s trying not to cry.

“Scully?”

“It’s…um. Thank you,” she says, this time with sincerity. “I’m sorry,” she adds, wiping at her eyes, avoiding her mascara with practiced ease.

“Hey—“

“Don’t let it go to your head, Mulder, I cried at a tampon commercial this morning. But this is…this is…thank you.”

He softens, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll help you pack. We have a plane to catch.”


	3. Chapter 3

He’s putting the finishing touches on a field report when she slides the blurry black-and-white picture in front of him.

“Thought you might want a first look,” she says. “I had an ultrasound.”

He blinks, tilts his head left, then right, trying to make sense of the image. “It looks like a peanut.”

Scully laughs. “This is the head,” she says, pointing, then draws her finger downward. “That’s the spine, and those are the legs and arms.”

“If you say so, Scully. Everything’s normal?”

“Mmhm. I’ll have another sonogram in a couple months.”

He squints, tilts his head again. “What I don’t get is how you can look at twenty photos of genuine paranormal phenomena and dub them fakes, then present me with a picture that looks like it was taken by a drunk with a broken camera and claim it’s a baby.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Chronic morning sickness isn’t proof enough?”

“I’m just saying, how do we know this isn’t an elaborate hoax perpetuated by government officials who don’t want the public to know the truth?”

“The truth about what?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest in mock skepticism.

“The scam that is the medical ultrasound industry. Seriously, Scully,” he says, gesturing to the photo. “I saw something like this during a Rorschach test once.”

She shakes her head, reaching over, pocketing the picture. “As intriguing as this theory of yours is, Mulder, I have an autopsy to do. Should we continue this investigation over dinner? On me.”

He leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Are you asking me out, Agent Scully?”

“No,” she says, drawing out the word. “A friendly dinner. As friends. Preferably before I get too big to wear decent clothes.”

He grins. “I’ll warn you, I’m not a cheap date.”

“Good, because it’s not a date. Tomorrow at seven?”

“I wouldn’t want to miss a friendly dinner with a friend.”

She smirks, shouldering her bag. “You can regale me with your ultrasound industry conspiracies. Don’t be late.”

 

****

 

The restaurant is a step up from their usual fare; the red-and-white-checked tablecloths and distinct air of fry grease are familiar territory, but the more exotic aromas wafting from the kitchen promise better cuisine.

“Indian, huh? Baby likes it spicy.”

“It’s good food,” she says, making her way to a table in the back. “Authentic. They make it worth the heartburn.”

They order sodas and chicken curry with extra rice and tandoori vegetables, family style. Scully surprises him by taking a heaping portion, even more so when she clears her plate and reaches for seconds. She catches him staring.

“What?”

“It’s good to see you eating again, that’s all.”

“Eating hasn’t been a problem; keeping it down is the challenge.”

He chuckles. “So, what’s the occasion, Scully?”

“No occasion,” she says. “I owed you a rain check, and I thought we could get away from work for a while…ultrasound conspiracies and all.”

He brightens. “Oh, I have a slide presentation at the office. We can swing by and take a look when we’re done.”

She looks up from her chicken mid-bite, all wide-eyed incredulity, and he grins.

“I’m kidding, Scully.”

Her shoulders heave and she reaches for her drink. “God, I wish this was wine.”

“Only, what, thirty-two more weeks to go?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Ahh. When do you think you’ll tell Kersh?”

“I don’t know yet,” she sighs, swirling her soda in her cup, growing serious. “People will talk.”

“They’ve been talking about us for years, Scully. It’s one of the perks of being partnered with ‘Spooky’. Complimentary intrigue.”

“Lucky me,” she says drily, but she’s running her fingers along the rim of her glass, distracted. “What would you say?”

“To Kersh?”

“To the water cooler gossip crowd.”

“In the unlikely event anyone had the balls to ask, I’d say it’s none of their business,” he says. “I’ll deny my involvement if you think that would help.”

She snorts, because they both know it wouldn’t. “And what do we tell him, or her?”

It takes him a moment to realize what she’s asking. “You mean…the baby?”

“Maybe I’m being presumptuous, but kids ask questions.”

He bites his lip. “I want whatever you want, Scully. I want…” he trails off, feels his cheeks grow hot, deciding it’s a latent effect of the curry. “I want you to be happy.”

There’s a fleeting look of disappointment on her face, so subtle anyone else would miss it, but she recovers with a tiny smile.

“What I’m saying is, I’ll be here,” he murmurs, barely able to meet her eye. “Whatever that means.”

“I know,” she says, just as the waiter interrupts to take their plates and offer tea. Mulder breathes a sigh of relief when she turns her attention to the menu.

“Thinking about desert?”

She quirks an eyebrow, lips turned up in a smirk. “You say that like it’s a question.”


	4. Chapter 4

He’s checking out of the motel when he notices it for the first time; the distinct bulge at her middle, the V of her blouse straining the buttons. He squints, wondering if the distance or the low afternoon light is somehow accentuating her new figure, but no—without her oversized trench coat, this Scully looks markedly different from the one who chased down and body-checked their suspect-cum-killer not six hours ago.

Mulder had approached the man with the intent to question him, but he’d bolted, running straight to where Scully was waiting on the curb, not seeing her in his frantic attempt to escape. She’d caught him from the side, crashing into him with her shoulder and taking him to the pavement in a single fluid motion, mounting and cuffing him before he knew what—or who—hit him.

It was a sight to behold, but Mulder had caught her rubbing her shoulder and wincing more than once since they finished wrapping things up at the precinct.

He thanks the motel clerk and jogs toward the car. “Here, let me get that,” he says, reaching for her carryon.

“I’ve got it, Mulder,” she says, wincing again as she hoists the bag into the trunk and shuts the door.

“That was quite the tackle back there.”

She grimaces, rolling her shoulder. “I’ve done worse.”

“Not with the peanut on board.”

She shoots him a look, walking around to the driver’s side, tugs open the door. “I’ll drive.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but decides against it, shrugs. “Wake me up when we get to the rest stop.”

 

****

 

They’ve been on the road for a while when she lets out a startled cry.

“Oh! Oh, wow.”

He’s awake in an instant. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she giggles, a sound so airy and foreign coming from his partner, he’s momentarily dumbstruck. “The baby kicked.”

Before he can answer, she grabs his hand and places it on her stomach.

“Feel that,” she says.

“I don’t—“

“Wait for it.”

Just then, there’s a sharp kick to his palm, then another, followed by a distinct push that lasts a second or two before pulling away.

“Whoa,” he says, bemused. “You’ve got a live one.”

She grins. “He’s active—“

“He?”

“Or she,” she says.

“Maybe she’s taking lessons in ass-kicking from her mother.”

Scully shakes her head, flicks on the turn signal. “It’s your turn to drive.”

They pull in at a gas station off the highway. Mulder’s legs protest as he unfolds them from the vehicle, stretching his hands above his head.

“I’ll be back,” Scully says, eying the restroom. “Grab me a water?”

“Sure.”

He’s filling the tank when she returns, heels clipping across the pavement.

“Drink’s on your side,” he says, nodding to the passenger seat.

“Right,” she says, her voice strained, but she doesn’t move to get in the car.

“Scully? What’s wrong?”

She worries her lower lip with her teeth before answering. “I’m bleeding.”

“First Aid kit’s in the trunk—“

“No…I’m spotting. I…I need to call Dr. Parenti,” she says, reaching into her jacket pocket, pulling out her phone. “I’ll be right back.”

She walks to the edge of the parking lot, pacing the line where the grass meets asphalt. He catches snippets of the conversation from a distance.

_Light…started this afternoon…traveling for work…yes…come in…I know, thank you_.

She pockets her phone and returns to the car.

“Should we find a hospital?”

She shakes her head. “He’s going to meet me at his office when we get back. Can you drop me off? It’s in midtown.”

“Of course…whatever you need.”

“It’s probably nothing. Spotting is common, I’m just being cautious.”

“Sure…sure.”

There’s no more lighthearted chatter as they make their way back to DC. Her back is straight and stiff, her eyes fixed on the road, and he catches her putting her hand on her belly, her side. Eventually she tips her head against the window and closes her eyes, but her breathing stays light, her fingers restless at the edge of her abdomen.

They pull up to the doctor’s office a couple hours later. It’s dark, save for a light in the reception area and a few scattered offices.

“Scully? We’re here.”

“Thanks,” she murmurs, begins to gather her things.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No. I’ll catch a cab from here.”

“Are you sure?”

The line of her throat moves as she swallows hard, but she offers a tired smile. “It’s just a couple tests, I’ll be fine.”

On impulse, he takes her hand, squeezing gently. Her fingers are cold, clammy; he wants to bring them to his lips and blow on them, rub them between his hands to warm them, but he lets her go.

 

****

 

He considers unpacking but decides against it, tossing his bag and suitcase on the bed before sprawling on the couch, not bothering to change. He needs to start their report, but all he can think about are sterile paper gowns and gloved hands and blood, so much blood.

He’s wide awake to catch the phone on the first ring.

“Scully?”

“It’s me,” she says softly, and he desperately wishes he could see her face.

“You’re home? What did the doctor say?”

“The baby’s fine. The placenta is partly covering my cervix. I probably jarred something when I took down the suspect this morning.”

“But everything’s OK?”

“Yes. Dr. Parenti wants me off field duty. It’s sooner than I’d anticipated, but he doesn’t want to risk it.”

“Small price to pay,” he murmurs.

“Yeah.”

Comfortable quiet falls, with only the sounds of her breathing on the other end of the line, the worn leather creaking beneath him as he shifts on the couch.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asks finally.

“It hurts,” she admits.

“No more tackle football for you, Mom.”

She chuckles, and a weight slowly lifts from his chest. “Goodnight, Mulder.”

“‘Night, Scully. Rest up.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Mulder, we need to talk.”

He frowns, signing off on an expense report before looking up to find her standing in front of his desk. “Huh? Oh, sorry I ate the last doughnut. You and the peanut have been going heavy on the baked goods. I’m not judging,” he says, holding up his hands. “A guy’s gotta be quick if he wants to get a bite.”

“That’s not what this is about,” she says, narrowing her eyes. She puts one hand at her waist, swaying close enough for her belly to nudge his nameplate backwards across his desk. “I’m taking leave in four weeks, and we haven’t found you a new partner.”

“That’s because I don’t need a new partner,” he says, opening a second report for show.

“Mulder, do you have any idea how much paperwork I’ve done in the last six years? Do you remember how long it took me to sort the X-Files into a system that wasn’t just piles of paper on the floor?”

“I have my own system.”

“Oh? Where would you find the report for the Farrington case?”

“Scully, I don’t have time for this—“

“You don’t know,” she says. “You have no idea what the filing system is because I’ve been doing it since I got here.”

“It’s…it’s under the F’s,” he sighs.

“It’s under M, for ‘mystical psychosis.’ You’ll be lost before the kid is born, Mulder.”

“It’s only three months.”

She sighs, pulling over a chair, lowering herself into it with a groan. “Kersh is insisting you interview the candidates starting tomorrow, or he’s going to assign someone himself. You don’t want him to do that. You need to look at these applications, find the least offensive résumé, and make a recommendation.”

He bites his lip, rolling a pencil between his thumb and forefinger, considers chucking it at the ceiling in frustration.

She continues, “More to the point…I don’t like the idea of you being alone down here, Mulder. It’s not good for you.”

“I did alright before they sent you,” he lies.

“Mulder,” she says, in that tone that suggests he’s already lost the battle. She hands him the sheaf of dossiers. “The top three are the ones I’d consider. All new transfers with no prior history in DC, so they’re less likely to have connections. The guy from New York looks promising, but you need to make the final decision. Kersh wants your selections on his desk no later than Monday.”

“I’m more likely to see Elvis doing the pop n’ lock on this desk than I am to see Kersh accept a request from me,” he mutters, but he picks up the first folder in the stack and opens it.

She sighs, but there’s the hint of a smile on her lips. “Promise me you’ll give them a chance, Elvis or not.”

“The last time they assigned me a partner, I got Krycek,” he says. “And you saw how that turned out.”

“Not everyone is Krycek, Mulder.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you, either.”

There’s a pause, a rustling as she folds her hands over her abdomen. “Well, I guess you shouldn’t have knocked me up.”

His head snaps up, jaw dropping open without his permission.

She smiles, victorious. “Monday, Mulder. No later.”


	6. Chapter 6

The hospital’s winding halls bring back too many memories. He itches in his expensive wool sweater, the only thing he could find in his closet that was halfway presentable and wasn’t a suit.

“Are you sure about this, Scully? Don’t you have a girlfriend or someone you can ask? I know your mom can’t make it, but—“

“Chasing down flukemen and far-reaching government conspiracies doesn’t exactly leave me much time for socializing, Mulder,” she replies without breaking stride. “If I had the kind of life that included girlfriends, I’d ask them. It’s either you or the Gunmen, and I’m not letting Frohicke near me with a ten-foot pole.”

“Touché,” he mutters, pushing through the door to the maternity ward, where a clip-art-decorated sign points them to the Lamaze classroom. “It just feels a bit, uh, intimate is all.”

“More intimate than helping to father my child?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Touché again,” he says, unable to help smiling. “You’re sassy today.”

“It’s the hormones,” she says drily. “Now play nice.”

The class finds them sitting on the floor in a circle with his legs wrapped around her, a pillow tucked between them to support her lower back.

“I’m beginning to think you were wrong about the intimacy thing, Scully. The donation process wasn’t nearly this cozy.”

She elbows him in the ribs, but he can feel her smile as the instructor begins, coaching them through the breathing exercises.

Afterward, they go out for ice cream. “As a thank you,” Scully says, holding up her sundae, “for suffering the intimate with me.”

“At least this is the real stuff and not tofu,” he says, watching as the fudge-soaked chocolate drips from her spoon. He takes a bite of his cone. “Mmm. The Bureau should put all its partners through Lamaze training. Better than building a tower of office furniture.”

“I’m not sure a tower of office furniture could hold me,” she mutters.

He bites his lip. She looks better—softer, vibrant, the way she looked before cancer and loss stole her hope—but he can’t bring himself to tell her that. Instead, he clears his throat, says, “I’ll be happy if I never have to hear the word ‘placenta’ again.”

“But it’s such a fascinating organ. Most mammals actually eat the placenta after birth. It’s supposed to be highly nutritious.”

Mulder suppresses a gag. “And there goes my appetite.”

“More for me,” she shrugs, taking another bite.

He plunks his cone in a dish, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Uh, does the peanut have a name yet?”

“No, and I’m not going to decide until I meet him. Or her.”

“You’re still keeping that a secret, too, huh?”

“There have to be some surprises.”

“Oh, you’ll get some surprises where my genes are involved.”

She giggles, an errant smear of chocolate on one cheek. “Touché, Mulder. Touché.”


	7. Chapter 7

It’s not yet 3 a.m. when his cellphone rings, shrill and insistent. He fumbles for it from the couch, squinting at his watch.

“Mul’er,” he mumbles.

There’s a pause. “Mulder? It’s me…”

“Hey, Scully…what’s up?”

“I…think I’m in labor.”

He blinks, suddenly wide awake. “It’s too early.”

“Only…a couple weeks. Look, I’m sorry to bother you but…” she pauses, her voice going strained. “I need your help.”

“Sure, sure. What can I do?”

“My mom…she’s out of town,” Scully gasps. “I don’t want her driving all the way down here…if it’s nothing,” she says, letting out a long breath.

Mulder struggles to stand, hand sliding across the coffee table in search of his keys, scattering magazines, files, and a half-full glass of water to the floor.

“Shit,” he hisses, just as she does the same. “Hang on, Scully, I’m on my way.”

Several minutes later he stands at her apartment door wearing yesterday’s shirt with the buttons misaligned. He lets himself in with her key.

“Scully?”

“In here,” she calls.

“Hey…”

He finds her in the bedroom, hair pulled back with a bandanna, and she’s holding a dripping sponge with hands clad in yellow rubber gloves. Her voice is almost too bright. “I thought I’d clean to take my mind off the contractions. The bathroom floor is filthy.”

“Um,” he says, watching as she ducks back into the bathroom. He hears the water running, the sound of the sponge scrubbing at the porcelain sink. “Are you sure you should be doing that now?”

She emerges from the bathroom and strips off the gloves. “I haven’t had a contraction in thirty minutes. I think I might have spoken too soon, Mulder,” she says. “I’m sorry you came all the way over here for false labor.”

“You’re sure?”

“Really, it’s probably just…” she trails off, her face going slack. “Oh…”

She bends at the waist, reaching out to brace herself on the wall.

“Scully? Talk to me, Scully.”

“Hurts,” she gasps.

“Breathe,” he says. “Lean on me if you have to.”

She does, her body tense and shaking.

“Try to relax. It hurts more if you fight it, remember?”

“Easy for you to say,” she mutters through gritted teeth, but eventually she pulls away. “Thanks,” she says, face flushed.

“Maybe you should sit down,” he offers.

“I…but the bathroom.”

“Tell you what, I’ll take care of the bathroom,” he says, willing to say anything to get her to cooperate. “You rest.”

He finds the sponge still in the sink. He half-heartedly scrubs around the drain, listening for her.

“So, uh, where’s your mom?” he calls.

“Visiting a friend upstate. She didn’t want to go, but the woman’s husband passed away last week, and I told her it was fine. Dr. Parenti said he didn’t expect him to come early.”

“Him?” Mulder says.

“Or her,” Scully qualifies, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

“Scully? You OK?”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine. Not a strong one.”

“Bathroom’s spotless,” he lies, tossing the sponge into the tub. “Should we be on our way?”

“Too soon,” she gasps, wincing. “Have to wait until they’re…less than five minutes apart…and at least sixty seconds long…”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call the hospital?”

“Yes,” she groans, leaning forward. “We don’t know this is the real thing.”

“I’m no doctor, but it looks like the real thing to me.”

“The chance of unnecessary intervention…goes down…exponentially for every hour you labor…at home,” she says, breathing out.

“That’s interesting, Scully, but I’d like to see the statistics on live births in vehicles on the side of the road to compare.”

She glares at him. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s probably Braxton—ohgod,” she groans, doubling over.

“Yeah, a false alarm, right,” he mutters. “That was, what, two minutes?”

“Mullllderrrrr,” she wails, and he goes to her side, contrite.

“I’m here, Scully. What can I do?”

“I don’t…ohhhhhhhhh,” she groans again, blinking up at him with wide eyes, barely choking out the words, looking down at her lap with terrified awe. “Hand.”

He offers his hand and she squeezes it, forcing out some breaths for several painful seconds before finally relaxing.

“Want me to try your mom again?”

“Yeah,” she whispers. “Number’s on the fridge.”

“I’ll be right back.”

The phone rings without answer for several minutes. Mulder curses under his breath and hangs up when he hears a stifled cry from the next room.

“Scully?”

“Fine,” she hisses, sounding anything but.

He wracks his brain, going over that one childbirth class, but the details are murky. He remembers how she smelled, the warm feeling of her back against his chest, the pace of her breathing and the taste of his vanilla cone, but the pertinent information is a blur.

She’s still sitting on the bed, hand tucked protectively around her belly when he comes back.

“You wanna walk around?”

“I don’t…know…”

“C’mon,” he says, taking her hand, guiding her off the bed. “You haven’t shown me the kid’s room yet.”

“Yes, I have.”

“I forgot what it looks like.”

She throws him a look, but follows him into the spare bedroom, now painted a creamy shade of yellow—the kind with a fancy name, he remembers teasing her about it, _golden sunray_ or _lemon chiffon_ , something like that—with a new crib in the corner, a rocking chair, a changing table.

There’s a stuffed frog sitting on the rocking chair. Scully picks it up, turns it over in her hands, runs her fingers over the plush. Mulder had bought it for her on a whim during a long layover.

“It reminded me of you,” he’d said as she’d unwrapped it. “You know, because of Florida. Maybe you can name him Jeremiah.”

Scully had smiled and rolled her eyes at the time, but the frog held a prominent place in the baby’s room.

“Does, uh, the peanut have a name yet?” he asks.

Scully shakes her head, putting the frog back on the chair. “Not yet.”

“Not even a hint, huh?”

“Nope,” she says through gritted teeth, putting her hand to the small of her back, grimacing.

“Breathe,” he reminds her, feeling helpless.

“I am,” she replies, her voice shaking with the effort.

They move to the kitchen, and she leans against the counter. Her knuckles turn white on the countertop, and she doesn’t pull away when he takes her hand, letting her squeeze it until the wave passes.

They time contractions for an hour, but the pains never fall into a regular pattern. Mulder tries her mom twice with no luck.

At some point, Scully doubles over with a force so strong that every bone in Mulder’s hand seems to grind together in a brutal, gritty dance of empathy.

When she can finally speak, her voice is raspy.

“Think…water broke…”

He sucks in a breath, flexing his sore fingers. “Does that mean we can go to the hospital?”

She nods violently, head snapping up and down as her brow wrinkles in concentration, another contraction following on the heels of the first.

“Breathe, Scully. Breathe, and tell me where you put your bag.”

It’s only three miles, but it feels like hours. Scully squeezes his hand over the console with each contraction, stoic and silent, and he becomes painfully aware of her strength.

They pull up to the Emergency entrance and Mulder jogs inside to flag down a nurse from the reception area.

“Hey, my partner is in labor, her water broke—“

Scully comes up beside him, giving her details to the receptionist in between labored breaths; another nurse arrives and helps Scully into a wheelchair.

“Are you the father?” he asks.

“Um, no,” Mulder says, just as Scully says, “Yes.”

The nurse looks back and forth between them for a moment before grabbing a clipboard. “I guess you two can figure that out later. Follow me.”

 

****

 

“Where is she?” Scully demands through clenched teeth.

Mulder shakes his head, hanging up the phone. “She got caught in traffic coming into the city, there was a pileup on 95…she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

“Dammit,” she curses, but it comes out like a sob.

“Hey, you’re doing great,” he murmurs, rubbing her back, but she shakes him off.

“Just my hand,” she mutters, forehead pressed to the bed rail. He takes her fingers with a wince, wondering how many bruises he’ll have by the time Maggie Scully walks through the door.

“Better be soon,” he mutters to himself as the contraction reaches its peak. “Breathe, Scully, just breathe, remember?”

“I…remember,” she snaps in between breaths. “It’s…not…helping.”

“I know,” he says, looking toward the door, willing someone—anyone—to walk through. “I know.”

The contraction eases and her grip loosens. It takes him a moment to register the keening noise she’s making through the beeping of the monitors and the fatigue ringing in his ears.

“Scully? Hey, talk to me.”

“S’nothing,” she mumbles thickly, face pressed into the pillow, hair falling over her cheek like a curtain. He reaches over to draw it back.

“You need me to call the nurse?” he asks, feeling helpless.

“No,” she sniffs. Her eyes are wet.

“I’m a piss-poor substitute for a birth coach, huh?” he murmurs.

“It’s not that,” she says, facing him. “It’s—“

The moment is interrupted by another contraction, this one stronger than the others, if the pressure on his fingers is any indication.

“Jesus—“

“Nooooooo ow ow ow,” she groans, her voice growing higher and more panicked with each second, devolving into a shriek that sets Mulder’s pulse racing.

“Scully? Tell me what to—“

Suddenly there’s a nurse at the door asking, “How are we doing, Mrs. Scully?”

“It’s Doctor Scully,” Mulder says, though the woman doesn’t appear to hear him. “And she’s in a lot of pain.”

“Sounds like it’s time for a cervical check,” she says mildly, reaching for a pair of gloves. “Let’s see where we’re at.”

Mulder helps Scully roll to her back when the contraction finally ends, and winces on her behalf when the nurse reaches beneath the sheet over her knees.

“Ice chips?” he offers, and she shakes her head, eyes wide and shimmering, fixed on the ceiling. He reaches over to brush hair away from her forehead, and when she doesn’t push him away, he strokes her temple.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers.

“Yeah, you can.”

“No. No, I can’t, I don’t know what I’m doing, Mulder, this was a mistake—“

“Never.”

“I wanted this…I want this, but…this is too much. I can’t…if I…”

He shakes his head. “That’s the pain talking. Remember? That’s how you know it’s almost over.”

“I can’t,” she groans, the word drawn out by another oncoming contraction.

“You’re close,” the nurse says. “I’m going to page Dr. Parenti. Time to have a baby!” she singsongs, leaving the room.

“Do you want me to call your—“

“Nooooooooo,” Scully wails. “Don’t…leave…me…”

“But your mom—“

“Not…gonna…make it,” she gasps.

Several minutes and three strong contractions later, a team of nurses descends on the room, followed by a short, white-haired man who must be Dr. Parenti.

“I heard there’s a baby on the way, Dana,” he says, chuckling as if enjoying a private joke, and Mulder’s lip curls in a snarl. A squeeze from Scully brings him back, and he kneels down, covering her hand with his.

“Mulder…”

“I’m here,” he says.

She breathes a sigh. “I’m glad it was you.”

He doesn’t have time to ask what she means before Dr. Parenti stands, gesturing for the nurses. “You’re at ten, Dana, and ready to push. Let’s get the bed ready.”

There’s a flurry of activity as machines are wheeled out of the way. Mulder swallows hard.

“I hope you know what’s going on here, Scully, because I’m a little out of my element.”

“Got your back,” she murmurs weakly.

“You just worry about getting the kid out, and tell me what I can do to help that won’t violate the Bureau’s fraternization protocol.”

“Since when have you ever cared about protocol, Mulder?”

He grins. “That’s my Scully,” he says, bringing her fingers to his lips.

“Just hold my hand,” she says, groaning as another contraction starts.

“Dana, you can push whenever you’re ready,” Dr. Parenti says from over Mulder’s shoulder.

“You heard the man, Scully. Do your thing.”

“I…am,” she rasps, curling forward, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat.

“More…more, more,” Dr. Parenti says, as if bored. “I know you can do better, Dana. Push!”

“Tough crowd,” Mulder mutters. “C’mon, Scully, you can do this. Focus. Breathe. Push.”

 

****

 

It seems to last forever, but at some point, a cry fills the room. Mulder braves a look over his shoulder to see Dr. Parenti lifting the baby up, placing him on Scully’s stomach.

“Mulder?” she whispers, still dazed and panting.

He’s struck dumb by the sight, watching the child as the nurses coo at him, rubbing him with a blanket. He sees Scully reach down, instinctively pulling the baby closer. A foot sticks out, splayed toes and wriggling against Mulder’s forearm as she gathers the child into her arms.

“You did it,” is all he can manage, wondering how it’s possible to feel like he’s watching his own heart settling against her chest when it’s beating within him.

“A boy,” she whispers.

He nods, unable to talk past the lump in his throat.

“Mulder, look,” she whispers, still awed.

“Yeah,” he chokes out.

He barely notices the nurses fussing over Scully, the doctor finishing his exam. When they take the baby to weigh and measure him, Mulder can’t take his eyes off him, and only when they place him in Scully’s arms and take their leave does he relax.

“He needs to try to eat,” Scully murmurs, untangling the front of her gown. It takes Mulder a moment to realize what she means, until she unclasps the top of her bra. Suddenly he finds the pattern on the ceiling deeply interesting, becomes absorbed in the hospital signage on the other side of the room.

“I think I need the nurse,” she admits after a few minutes of rustling and coaxing, and he jumps up, relieved to have a purpose.

“I’ll get someone.”

The nurse settles in with Scully and the baby, and Mulder takes the opportunity to get coffee, making sure to stay away for what he hopes is long enough to maintain a partnerly boundary. He arrives back at Scully’s room just in time for the nurse to leave.

“Welcome back, Dad! He’s got a great latch,” the nurse beams.

Mulder bites his tongue. “That’s, uh…great…”

“I’ll leave you three alone,” she says, patting his shoulder on the way out. “We’re down the hall if you need anything.”

Scully doesn’t seem to have noticed Mulder’s absence, or his return, or the nurse’s mistaken perception of his standing. He sidles up to the bed, relieved to find the baby sleeping in her arms.

“How’s he doing?”

She grins up at him. “He’s perfect, Mulder.”

He reaches out, drawing a finger along the baby’s crown, finding himself amazed at his presence; that what had once been an intangible hope born from a recovered vial of ova was now this tiny, living, breathing creature.

“Dana? Fox?”

He turns around to find Maggie Scully in the doorway.

“Hi, Mrs. Scully,” he says, giving Scully’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll give you some space—“

“No, stay,” Maggie says, waving him off, intent on the newborn bundled up against his mother’s chest. “Oh, Dana, he’s beautiful. Oh, I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it, but he’s perfect.”

“It’s OK, Mom,” she says, accepting a hug. “We did just fine.”

Maggie turns to Mulder, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m so glad you were here, Fox.”

“Don’t thank me,” he says, ducking his head to hide the color in his face. “Scully did all the work.”

Maggie opens her mouth to protest, but Mulder interrupts. “What are you going to call him?”

“William,” Scully whispers.

“William,” he repeats, thinking of her father and brother.

“He looks like a William, don’t you think? He looks like you.”

He swallows hard, realizing her true intent.

“It’s the least I could do,” she explains, stroking the baby’s cheek with the pad of a finger as Mulder sways on his feet.

“Do you want to hold him?” Scully asks.

“I, uh, don’t know,” Mulder says, but Scully is already lifting the child up and into his arms. The only thing that keeps him from leaving is the certain terror that he’ll drop the baby if he so much as flinches. He’s stunned at the slight weight of him, surprised the baby—William, he thinks, she named him William—doesn’t start screaming.

“Hey there,” he begins, barely above a whisper. “Hey, William. I’m your…” he trails off.

“Fox,” Maggie speaks up gently, coaxing him. For the first time in his life, the name doesn’t sound foreign to his ears.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in closer, whispering, “I’m your Fox.”

 

****

 

He meant to leave an hour ago, but he can’t seem to uproot himself from her couch. The baby is curled on his chest, and there’s the distant sound of the shower running as Scully washes the smell of the hospital out of her hair.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she’d asked, looking back and forth between them. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“It’s OK,” he says. “I think I can handle this.”

She’d looking longingly at the baby before ducking into the bedroom. “I’ll be out in ten minutes.”

“No rush,” he murmurs, taking in the warm, sweet scent of Will’s downy-soft head, surprised at the magnetic pull of someone so small.

Mrs. Scully had left to get groceries and dinner, saying something about the importance of quality time as she’d walked out the door.

Now, with William curled against him, he ponders an alternate universe where he stays. The thought is fleeting, sends his head spinning with the possibilities, none of which he has the energy to consider.

The shower stops running; Scully’s voice drifts from over his shoulder. She’s poking her head around the bedroom corner. “Mulder?”

“We’re still here,” he says, careful not to disturb William.

She gives a tired half-smile before ducking back into the bedroom, emerging a few minutes later dressed in sweatpants and a loose-fitting v-neck. He tries not to notice the swell of her cleavage.

“I should probably go,” he whispers, handing the baby over. “You should be sleeping.”

“I don’t think I can,” she sighs, drawing a finger across the puckered bow of William’s lips, the curve of a cheek. “I just want to look at him.”

He leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You did good…Mom.”

“We did,” she says, soft enough that he wonders if he imagined it, but then she looks at him and smiles, and he feels it in every breath, every bone, every pore.


	8. Chapter 8

“Are you sure you’ll be OK? We’re just going around the corner for coffee, I’ll be back in half an hour. Twenty minutes, even.”

“Dana, we’ll be fine,” Maggie says, gently bouncing William in her arms. “I’ve done this before. Take your time. Get some fresh air.”

Mulder puts his hand at Scully’s back, gently steering her to the door. “C’mon. I’ll have you back before you turn into a pumpkin.”

She glares at him, then over her shoulder to where William is snuggled against his grandma. “I have my phone, Mom, the number is—“

“I know, Dana, I have it right here. Go,” she says, forcing the issue by closing the door before Scully can protest again.

They walk around the corner to the coffee shop, then down the street to a nearby park. Mulder talks about work to distract her; about Doggett, their last case, anything to take her mind off William.

“He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s more open than you were,” Mulder says, sipping his coffee. “You wouldn’t know it looking at him, though.”

“Oh?”

“Never thought I’d say it, but he’s not half bad. He’s not you, though, Scully.”

She ducks her head. “I wanted to talk about that, actually.”

“You’ll be happy to know I cleared off a space on the office bulletin board just for baby pictures. We can probably fit a playpen in the back if I rearrange the projector cabi—”

“Mulder, I’m not coming back to the X-Files.”

He blinks. “You’re…oh.”

“Skinner recommended me for a faculty position at Quantico. Regular hours, better pay…I couldn’t say no. I wanted to tell you—”

“I understand,” he interrupts. “That’s, uh, that’s great, Scully. I’m happy for you.”

“It will be good for us, for William. I’m home every night, and he has a space at the daycare on campus. I’ll still be able to consult when you need a pathologist.”

Mulder nods, forcing a smile. “That’s great.”

She fidgets with the rim of her cup, nudges his shoulder with hers, watching his face for a reaction. “I thought you might be upset.”

“No…no, I get it. I want what’s best for you and Will.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

He swallows a harder response. “It’ll take some getting used to, is all.”

She nods, looking back from where they’d come, takes a long last drink from her coffee. He watches, waiting for her to say more, but her attention is elsewhere.

“You want to head back, don’t you?”

She smiles, shifts in her seat, still distant. “I’m fine, Mulder. We haven’t been out long. It’s good for me to spend some time in the real world.”

“Now you’re the one who doesn’t sound convinced.”

“I’m fine,” she sighs, but she doesn’t say anything further.

“C’mon,” he says, offering his hand. “Let’s go.”

Relief washes over her features, even though she tries to hide it. “Are you sure?”

“I won’t try to compete with the other guy in your life.”

She accepts his hand, squeezes. “We’re good?”

“Sure, Scully,” he says, his heart sinking in his chest. “We’re good.”

 

****

 

They’re assisting at a crime scene when Mulder’s cell phone rings.

“Have to take this,” he mutters to Doggett, turning away. “Hey, Scully. What’s up?”

“Mulder—”

A high-pitched wail cuts through the line, causing him to flinch and pull the phone from his ear.

“Christ, Scully, are you murdering a cat?”

“No, it’s Will. He’s been inconsolable all morning. He’s hungry, but I can’t get him to latch, he won’t take a bottle…”

“Is he sick?”

“He doesn’t have a temperature, it’s not a pain cry,” she sighs, as the baby’s wails grow louder. “He’s just…angry at the world.”

“You need me to come over?”

“No…no, I just wanted to hear a friendly voice,” she says. “I’ve been up since three and there are only so many times I can walk around the block. I’m convinced the neighbors think I’m trying to kill him.”

“We’re finishing up here, I’ll swing by in a few.”

He hangs up, turns to his partner. “Let’s wrap this up, I need to go.”

“Everything OK?” Doggett asks.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You sure? Sounded pretty serious…”

“It’s fine,” Mulder snaps.

Doggett shakes his head, gives a rueful chuckle. “Alright.”

He swings around. “Is there a problem, Agent Doggett?”

The other man holds up his hands. “No. No problem.”

Mulder slams the door as they get in the car, hard enough to rattle the window, hoping to end the conversation, but Doggett continues.

“So what’s the deal with you and Agent Scully?”

Mulder rolls his eyes. “What’s it to you?”

Doggett stretches out in the passenger seat. “It’s none of my business—“

“You’re right. It isn’t.”

“But you two are pretty cozy. You keep a picture of her kid on your desk. I’d heard you were a recluse, addicted to your work, but you spend every lunch break at her place, and we haven’t set foot on a plane since the kid was born. She asks you to jump,” he says, gesturing to Mulder’s phone, “and you ask ‘how high?’”

Mulder sucks in a breath. “Where are you going with this, Doggett?”

The man whistles in amusement. “The hot-shot profiler doesn’t like it when the tables are turned, does he?”

“This profiler wants you to get to the fucking point,” Mulder mutters.

“Fine, I’ll do that. You’ve been a real ass this week, you know. I don’t know what kinda hair you’ve got across it, if you get what I’m sayin’, but you’re stuck with me. You can either take it out on me, or talk to me, and I’ll be honest: my patience is lookin’ pretty damn thin. I’d start talking.”

There’s a lapse as Mulder considers this, surprising himself when he blurts out, “She’s not coming back.”

“She quit?”

“She got a better offer,” he mutters.

“So…that’s good, right? Good for her.”

“Yeah…good for her,” he says. “And I can’t argue, and it’s for the best, but…fuck,” he finishes, flushing at his own selfishness.

“You didn’t see it comin’?”

“No,” Mulder snaps. “I mean, yeah. I may be an ass, but I’m not an asshole. Scully should have gotten out years ago. She stayed because of me, and now…her priorities are where they should be. I’m just not used to playing second fiddle yet.”

It feels good to admit it; better than he’d expected. His shoulders relax a little as they exit the highway, the tightness in his chest slowly unwinding.

“I had a son,” Doggett says, a confession out of the blue.

Mulder keeps his expression neutral, eyes fixed on the road. Luke Doggett was a notation in a personnel file, brought to life by the heaviness in his father’s voice.

“He was killed. Kidnapped when he was seven.”

Mulder swallows a sudden burning in his throat, tries to imagine William at seven, decides it’s best not to.

“Tore my wife and I apart,” Doggett continues. “You’re lucky, Agent Mulder. Whatever you have…hold on to it.”

“I’m sorry about your son,” he says after a pause.

Doggett waves his hand. “I’m not looking for pity. I’ve seen a lot of things in my time—you work with someone long enough…let’s just say people get close. I don’t judge.”

“You saying you want to get close, Doggett?” Mulder mutters.

The other man laughs. “No. From the sound of it, you’ve already got your hands full.”

 

****

 

He pulls up to Scully’s apartment, having dropped off Doggett at the office. Familiar wailing can be heard even before he sets foot inside the building, and it grows louder and angrier as he approaches her door. He uses his key, greeted by the sound of William’s screeching and Scully, pacing back and forth, bouncing him in her arms.

“You weren’t kidding,” Mulder says, wincing.

“I’ve tried everything,” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Walks, car rides, vacuum noise, the swing. I’m out of ideas.”

Mulder resists the urge to cover his ears. “When did he start?”

“I tried to give him a bottle this morning. He needs to get used to it before I go back to work, but then this started, and now he won’t eat anything, breast or bottle. I’ve been pumping to keep my supply up, but I hate leaving him to cry when I know he needs to eat.”

“Have an IV handy?”

Scully rolls her eyes. “Not helpful.”

“Yeah, sorry. Uhh…can I try?”

Mulder holds out his hands, taking the squirming, red-faced six-week-old in his arms. Possibly startled by the change of scenery, the baby quiets, blinking up at him with grey-blue eyes. They stay like that for a moment, sizing each other up, before Will begins to fuss more quietly. Mulder bounces him, swaying on his feet, as the baby chews his fist and whimpers.

“Have that bottle?” Mulder asks after a minute or two.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” she asks, but goes to the kitchen, returning with a bottle. Mulder offers it to Will, who immediately latches on and begins eating in long, slurping gulps, eyes wide and fixed on his face.

“Jesus,” Scully murmurs, sinking into a chair. “I thought he’d never stop.”

“He holds a strong grudge, Scully. Accept no substitutes, right, peanut?”

She puts her head in her hands. “Hopefully this means he’ll take a bottle at daycare, too.”

The milk is half gone in minutes. Mulder pulls the bottle away, and Will’s face scrunches up, hands waving in protest.

“Don’t start,” he warns. The baby gives what sounds like a growl, but acquiesces, letting Mulder pat his back for a few minutes before starting on the rest. Soon his eyes are heavy.

Mulder looks up to tell Scully, but she’s resting with her chin on her hands, eyes closed. Only in the sudden peace of the moment does he notice her hair, tangled around her face, her shirt stained with spit-up and something that could either be mustard or baby poop.

“Scully?”

Her head snaps up. “What? What is it?”

“Still with me?”

She blinks. “Sorry…haven’t been getting much sleep.”

“I don’t know who wore who out more,” he says, watching Will’s eyes slip shut, fingers flexing in rhythm with the steady clench and release of his jaw.

“Maybe he’ll actually nap,” she sighs.

“I’m not moving.”

“Don’t you have to get back?”

“Doggett’s covering for me. He and I, uh, came to a certain understanding. I think he’s going to work out.”

“That’s good, because I don’t have the energy to feel guilty for leaving the X-Files today,” she mutters, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

“You’re making the right choice,” he murmurs, watching Will’s face relax further into sleep. “I miss having you down there with me, though.”

She smiles, slow and sleepy and warm. “Even if we don’t share an office, you’ll always be my partner, Mulder. You should know that by now.”


	9. Chapter 9

She answers the door with two-year-old William on her hip, damp hair curling against her collarbone, still dressed in her bathrobe.

“Mulder, hi,” she says. “Thanks for watching him. I know it’s last minute.”

“No problem. Hey, peanut,” he says as Will squeals and reaches for him.

“Foss! Foss!”

“Fox, right. You and I are going to have a good time tonight,” he tells the baby as Scully ducks into the bedroom to finish getting ready. “I brought a movie,” he says, holding up a copy of _Shrek_.

“Down,” Will demands, pointing at the floor, and Mulder obliges. The baby toddles to the couch and climbs up, sitting with both feet straight out. “Moo-vee?”

“Soon, buddy. Let’s let your mom get dressed first. So what’s the occasion, Scully?” he calls, helping himself to a glass of orange juice. “Another fascinating pathology lecture? Are they finally recognizing your exceptional slicing-and-dicing skills?”

“Actually,” she says, emerging from the bedroom in a black cocktail dress, red curls pinned up, “Mom set me up.”

He coughs into his glass, choking on his drink. Scully doesn’t seem to notice as she steps into her heels, fiddling with one earring, then the other.

“Zip me up?”

“You have a date?” he balks.

“Someone Mom met at her church. A doctor. The zipper, Mulder?”

She turns around, and he fumbles with the clasp, admiring the soft line of her back, the sleek fabric, the way the dress hugs her hips. Jealousy burns in his stomach as the doorbell rings.

“That’s probably him,” she says. “Will, be good for Fox. I love you,” she says, leaning over to nuzzle the baby’s cheek, giving him a peck on the nose.

“Mama bye-bye?”

“I’ll be back before eleven,” she says. “His dinner’s in the fridge—just heat it up. Bedtime’s at 7:30, don’t forget his frog. All the numbers are on the fridge—emergency, his pediatrician, my cell, Mom’s cell—”

“Foss uppa! Uppa!” Will cries.

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Mulder says, pulling Will into his arms. “We’ve done this before, haven’t we, buddy?”

Scully opens the door to find her date standing on the other side.

“Hi…Dana?”

“Matt, hi. Come in, I’m almost ready.”

“It’s great to meet you; your mom’s told me so much about you,” he says, offering his hand.

“I’m sure she did,” Mulder mumbles into Will’s ear. The baby giggles, smacking Mulder on the cheeks with both fists, drawing the other man’s attention.

“And this must be William. I’ve heard a lot about you, too, little guy. You didn’t have trouble finding a sitter on short notice, did you?” Matt asks, meeting Mulder’s eyes. He stares for a moment, visibly started by the striking affinity between William and his “sitter.”

“No, no. This is, uh, Fox,” Scully says, eyeing her former partner over the man’s shoulder, mouthing, “Be nice.”

“Nice to meet you,” Matt says. “It’s nice to see more men getting into the childcare business. Very, ah, forward thinking. Reversing gender roles and all that.”

“I’m an FBI agent, actually,” Mulder says, smiling with all his teeth in an expression he hopes is more predatory than friendly. “Be good or I’ll have to arrest you.”

Scully titters a forced laugh. “Very funny, but I think we should be going if we’re going to make that reservation,” she says, glaring at Mulder, taking the other man’s arm.

“Oh I didn’t get reserv—“

“That’s fine. Let’s go,” she says, already pulling her date out the door.

“Bye bye now. Have fun,” Mulder says, using Will’s little hand to wave as the door shuts behind them. “Hope your mom’s still packing heat,” he mutters.

“Mama bye-bye,” Will agrees.

“She’ll be back. What do you say we get something to eat and watch that movie?”

He goes to the fridge, pulls out the wrapped plate Scully left for Will’s dinner. “Looks like…leftover meatloaf,” he says. “Tell you what. If you eat your carrots and don’t tell your mom, we’ll skip the meatloaf and order pizza. Deal?”

“Eeza!” Will says. “Foss eeza pee-zah.”

“That’s my boy.”

 

****

 

He’s wide awake with the TV on, Will sleeping on his chest, when he hears her key turning in the lock. He closes his eyes, feigning sleep until she tiptoes over to the couch.

“Oh, hey,” he whispers, faking a yawn. “You’re back.”

Scully leans down, brushes her fingers through the baby’s hair. “He’s asleep?”

“Been out since seven.”

“Did he fight?”

Mulder shakes his head, running his fingers up and down the boy’s warm back. “Told him he could stay up as late as he wanted.”

“Did you reverse psychology my kid, Mulder?”

He grins. “Maybe.”

He sits up, careful not to disturb William, who scrunches up his face in his sleep, one fist on Mulder’s t-shirt, the other wrapped around his frog.

“Ugh,” Scully groans, pulling off her heels, easing herself onto the couch.

“How’d it go with Romeo?”

She hesitates. “It was…nice.”

“Nice,” Mulder echoes, heart falling in his chest. “Second-date nice?”

She shakes her head. “He’s sweet, but…”

“But what?”

“Doctors are boring.”

Mulder snorts. “I’ve never found that to be true.”

“Well, there are exceptions,” she smiles.

“So is the, uh, dating going to be a regular thing? Not that I don’t love spending quality time with the peanut, but—“

“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Mulder,” she murmurs, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’m not jealous,” he balks, flushing at the contact. “There’s only so many times I can watch _Shrek_ , and the rest of my movie collection isn’t child friendly.”

“Then maybe you should ask me out next time,” she yawns, stroking William’s cheek.

Mulder becomes hyper aware of her hip against his thigh, the vanilla-sugar smell of her hair, the warmth of her shoulder against his chest.

“I suppose we should put him to bed, huh?” she murmurs, slurring lightly.

“Probably,” Mulder says, grateful his voice doesn’t crack.

Neither makes an effort to move. The TV plays on in the background, muted, _Shrek_ having rewound and started from the beginning. Mulder has the sudden desire to stay; to wake up beside Scully the next morning, get William dressed, take him to the park, put him down for an afternoon nap.

Scully shifts against him, makes a soft sound against his shoulder. She’s already fallen asleep. It would be so easy to stay like this, to pretend this is where he belongs.

He nuzzles the top of William’s head and promises himself he’ll wake her in five more minutes.


	10. Chapter 10

The Emergency room doors swing open, and he scans the waiting area, finds her standing at the window, looking out over the hospital campus.

“Scully.”

She turns, face pale and eyes hollow, one arm wrapped around herself, the fingers of her other hand fidgeting with her cross.

“How is he?”

“He’s in surgery,” she says, her words gritty and distant at the same time. “They just took him down for the appendectomy.”

“I brought the clothes you asked for,” he says, holding up a hastily packed bag. “Even remembered this,” he says, pulling out William’s stuffed frog. Scully’s eyes water as she takes the toy, turns the worn plush over in her hands.

“Thanks. I was so focused on getting him to the ambulance I forgot to grab anything.”

“What happened?”

“He’s had a stomach ache, a low-grade fever. I thought it was just the flu, there’s a bug going around at the preschool…but he woke up this morning, vomiting, crying in pain. His abdomen was swollen…I should have known.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“If I hadn’t been so focused on work, if I’d paid more attention to his symptoms, I would have seen it.”

“Stop—”

“I’m a doctor, Mulder—“

“You’re a pathologist, not a pediatrician.”

“It doesn’t—“ she begins, then lowers her head. She doesn’t resist when he pulls her into his arms, guides her to a bench. He goes to the coffee machine, plunking in a quarter, watches the brown liquid dispense into a paper cup.

“Thanks,” she whispers when he returns, handing her the coffee. “He’ll be out soon. You don’t need to stay.”

He settles beside her. “I have time.”

 

****

 

“Dr. Scully?”

A woman wearing surgical scrubs approaches. Mulder’s hand goes to Scully’s back on instinct, tension roiling beneath his fingers.

“Is he out? Can we see him?”

“William is coming out of anesthesia now. It’s a good thing you brought him in when you did—the infection hadn’t had a chance to spread. We’ll want to keep an eye on him for the next few days, but I expect he’ll make a full recovery.”

“I’d like to see him now,” Scully repeats.

“Of course. They’re setting up his room; you can go up in a few minutes. Are you the father?” she asks, looking at Mulder.

Mulder opens his mouth to say no, but Scully interrupts. “Yes, he is.”

“The nurse will show you up once he’s in his room. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see his parents,” she says, smiling over her mask as she turns to leave.

A nurse leads them to the pediatric recovery ward, where William is tucked into bed, eyes shining and wide under the too-bright lights. Stark white bandages sweep across his naked stomach and chest, his skin pale against the colorful quilt across his lap.

“Mama?” his voice wavers, high and thin like a bird’s cry.

“Hey, baby,” Scully says, moving to his bedside, taking his small hand in hers. “I’m here.”

William’s face crumples. “Wanna go home.”

“I know,” she whispers. “But you’ve been so brave. You’re going to feel better soon.”

“Don’t wanna be sick, I wanna go home.”

“I know, baby, I know,” she soothes. “Does it hurt?”

He nods. “My tummy.”

“I’ll get the nurse. Fox is here,” she says, looking over her shoulder, where Mulder is waiting by the door. “Do you want him to sit with you?”

William nods, looking back and forth between them.

“OK. I’ll be right back.”

“Hey, buddy,” Mulder says. “I brought your favorite.”

He pulls out the stuffed frog, and William takes it, pressing it to his chest. “Thanks,” he whispers. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Mulder says, pulling up a chair. “It’s an adventure. Remember _Shrek_?”

William nods. “Shrek n’ Donkey went on a ‘venture to the big castle.”

“Right,” Mulder says, brushing the boy’s hair back from his forehead, leaning over to give him a kiss. “It’s kinda like that, but there aren’t any ogres, and you get to watch as much TV as you want.”

Will gives him a look so much like his mother’s it takes his breath away.

At that moment, Scully returns with a nurse. She makes a note on his chart and injects something into the IV on Will’s arm.

“This will make you a little sleepy, hun,” the nurse chirps. “You get your rest.”

“Fox?” William’s voice grows small; already his eyes are growing heavy. “Can you stay with me?”

“Sure,” he says, squeezing the boy’s hand. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

Scully pulls up a chair, sinking into it with a weary sigh as Will drifts off. She watches him for a long time before she speaks.

“We’ve been here so many times together, but it never fails to surprise me. Isn’t that the definition of insanity?”

“Some people call it hope.”

She snorts, watching her son shift, wince, and moan softly in his sleep.

“Why do I blame myself?” she asks, when the silence grows too heavy. “Logically I know there’s nothing I could have done, but…” she trails off.

“Did I tell you about the time Sam had her tonsils out?”

She raises an eyebrow. “No.”

“She was six, and she got to eat ice cream for lunch and dinner for a week. I only remember because I was jealous. I’m pretty sure her throat stopped hurting after four days, but Mom kept the freezer stocked with chocolate and strawberry. I think she felt bad.”

“Are you saying a mother’s guilt is universal?”

He shrugs. “I think, when carrying the responsibility of another life, the instinct is to protect them from anything that might do harm. Instincts are powerful, but they’re not good at nuance.”

She leans forward, eyes fixed on the boy’s face, as if she will him back to health with the power of her presence.

Mulder reaches out, puts his hand on her arm, whispers, “I know you don’t need me to tell you, but you’re doing a good job, Scully.”

She stiffens, and for a moment, he thinks she’ll brush him off, bristle at the compliment, but she doesn’t. Instead, she slowly relaxes, leans into his touch, lets the responsibility on her shoulders show its true weight.

Not for the first time, he wishes he could share it.


	11. Chapter 11

The floor is a sea of LEGOs, and William sits in the center, presiding over the mess like a king over his loyal subjects. He frowns in deep concentration, searching for something.

“This one?” Mulder asks, reaching across the pile to pluck out a dark gray wheel.

Will shakes his head. “Needs to be bigger, like this,” he says, holding up his creation, pointing to the desired piece.

“Perfection is the enemy of productivity,” Mulder mutters, tossing the wrong wheel back as he continues rummaging through the mess.

“Got it!” Will says after another moment or two, sticking the wheel in the last available slot. “It’s a car boat. The wings make it fly.”

“Nice,” Mulder grins. “What’s that part do?”

“That’s the capt-a-pult,” he says. “See?”

He puts a block in the bucket, then presses the end of the lever, watches it sail across the room in an impressive arc, rebounding off the living room window with a definitive _clunk_.

“What was that?” Scully calls from down the hall.

“Just engineering the future,” Mulder replies, hopping up to check the window.

“You two better not be engineering us out of a security deposit,” she fires back. “Will, it’s time to pick up. You have school tomorrow.”

“Even the great inventors had to answer to their mothers, Will,” Mulder says as the boy’s face droops in an exaggerated pout.

“Aww. Five more minutes? Please?”

“Tell you what,” Mulder says, getting to his feet, positioning the empty LEGO bucket on the other side of the mess. “Show me your best three-point shot.”

 

****

 

Scully throws herself on the couch with a soft groan of relief. “He’s asleep.”

“How many monsters this time?”

“Only three,” she sighs, tipping her head back, closing her eyes. “All closet dwellers.”

“Ahh,” he says. “Thankfully banishing closet dwellers requires a less involved method than under-the-bed dwellers.”

“Mmm. Is this your professional expertise speaking, Agent Mulder?”

“You know it,” he says, tipping his beer toward her. “Spooky’s monster-banishing, at your service.”

“Who knew all those years in the basement would come in handy?” she says wryly.

“You can always come back. I’ll tell Doggett to take a hike. He’d probably thank you for putting him out of his misery.”

She shakes her head. “As much as I miss it, Will needs one parent who isn’t in the line of fire on a regular basis.”

Mulder snorts. “You’re more than enough parent for both of us. I don’t know how you do it. One night with him and I’m exhausted.”

“Most days I’m not sure, myself…but we manage,” she says, giving him a tired smile.

Mulder nods thoughtfully, comfortable in their familiar silence.

“He asked about you the other night, you know,” she says after a few minutes.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“He’s observant for his age…he’s started to notice things…differences, between him and his peers. Like why his classmate Graham has two mommies, and why Alex has a mom and a dad. He’s curious.”

“Two mommies, huh? Please tell me Graham is Will’s new best friend,” Mulder says.

She rolls her eyes, ignoring this. “He knows the basics,” she continues, sipping at a beer. “Sperm meets ova. But I think he’s starting to put the…social aspects together.”

“So what did you tell him?”

“I told him you were the sperm,” she says, pressing her lips together in a thin line in a vain attempt to keep a straight face.

“The…I’m the sperm.”

She giggles. “I’m sorry, Mulder. It’s the truth, and I couldn’t…he asked and I couldn’t come up with a better explanation off the top of my head, so…”

“Great,” he mutters. “That’s just great, Scully. Thanks.”

“You’re more than that to him, you know,” she amends. There’s a false lightness in her voice, in the way she sips at her drink, the long-necked bottle kissing her lips.

“I, um…I’m glad,” Mulder says, the words struggling to escape. “He’s a great kid.”

“His Fox,” she murmurs, looking at him softly.

Something sparks between them in the quiet, something that steals his breath. He has to look away or he might burn up under her gaze. He reads the fine print on his beer bottle three times before he finds it in himself to speak, his tone deceptively light.

“‘The sperm?’” he asks, shaking his head at his partner. “Really?”


	12. Chapter 12

They’ve retired to the living room, a bottle of wine, a pizza box, and two mostly empty glasses between them on the coffee table. What started as regular visits while Will healed from surgery became a Friday night tradition. Mulder brings takeout and a movie, and the evening ends with long conversations reminiscent of their time on the X-Files, verbal and intellectual sparring conducted over leftover pizza.

Tonight he can’t remember what they were arguing about, because she leans into him mid-speech, catching his lips with hers and firmly shutting him up. It’s familiar and sweet, a reminder of a New Year long past. His hands move to her waist, tentative, half expecting her to push him away, but instead, she moves closer.

The kiss deepens, and soon she’s straddling his lap, her hot little tongue exploring his mouth in between soft sighs while her fingers thread themselves in his hair. He’s dizzy from lack of air, unwilling to break the spell for even a second, unconvinced this isn’t a potent hallucination, that she’ll vanish when their lips part.

“Mamaaaaa,” a familiar voice wails, and Scully breaks away, leaving them both breathless. They blink at each other through heavy lashes.

“He might settle on his own,” she whispers, her nose still brushing his, her words warm against his cheek.

“Mmm,” is all he can manage, distracted by the pleasant weight of her body, the tickle of her fingers on the back of his neck, the sheer elation that she hasn’t dissolved into thin air.

Another cry, this one louder, more insistent, and Scully sighs. “I’ll be right back.”

She climbs off his lap and makes her way to Will’s room. Soft sounds of comfort drift from down the hall.

Mulder stands, still dizzy, his pulse frantic in his throat. He gathers their glasses to bring them to the kitchen, a distraction to pass the time, when his bare foot lands on something sharp.

He hisses, drawing his foot up to see the culprit—a bright blue LEGO—losing his balance in an effort to spare the wine glasses in his hands. He falls, his temple grazing the corner of an end table on the way down.

It’s all he can do not to howl with pain as he rolls on the floor, red light throbbing behind his eyelids as he curses under his breath.

Rushed footsteps make their way toward him, pain swiftly replaced by embarrassment, and he wishes he could disappear, that he could melt into the floor.

“Mulder? What happened?”

He reaches up to touch his scalp, and his hand comes back sticky.

“Nothing,” he manages through gritted teeth. “Fell. S’just a scrape.”

“You’re bleeding,” she says, kneeling over him, cradling his neck. She holds a hand in front of his eyes. “How many fingers?”

“Three.”

It must be the right answer, because she sits back on her heels. “Can you sit?”

“I can even stay and heel,” he tries weakly, getting to his feet. “Just don’t ask me to fetch.”

“What happened?”

“This,” he says, leaning down to pick up the stray brick.

She makes a soft tsk sound, pressing her lips together as if trying not to laugh. “Taken down by a LEGO.”

“My pride took the biggest hit.”

“That’s not all,” she says, looking at his forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I’m fine, Scully—“

“You’re still bleeding,” she points out, gesturing for him to sit at the kitchen table. “Wait there, I’ll get my kit.”

He does, blood stinging in the corner of his eye. She comes back with her medical bag and takes out the supplies with practiced efficiency, before dabbing at the wound with gauze.

“If you wanted to play doctor, you could have just asked,” she murmurs, putting the soiled bandage aside.

“Hah-hah. How’s Will?” he asks, desperate to relieve the embarrassment.

“He’s fine,” she murmurs. “He’s a light sleeper, takes after you. Hold still.”

Her fingers are delicate against his skin as she applies the surgical tape, then tips his head to one side to examine her work.

“There,” she says. “We’ll keep you up for a while to make sure it’s not a concussion.”

“I can think of a few ways to do that,” he says, blurting it out before he can lose his nerve.

“Do what?” she asks.

“Keep me up,” he grins sheepishly.

She chuckles and presses a kiss to his forehead, then reaches for his hand, her voice low and enticingly rough.

“Come to bed, Mulder.”

 

****

 

He wakes in the semi-darkness with a stinging head, something soft tucked under his chin, and something much less soft digging into his side.

There’s a sigh to his left, and everything comes back to him; a Friday night at Scully’s with pizza, a movie…and then wine…and then…oh, he thinks, smiling to himself. That happened.

Further examination reveals William’s stuffed frog on his chest, and a bony three-year-old knee jabbed into his ribs. He thanks some unknown deity that he’d thought to put his boxers back on.

“Fox?” Will says, his voice thick with sleep. “You’re in my spot.”

“Uh,” is all he can manage, frozen as the boy sits up, rubbing his eyes. Scully has begun to wake, too, and she turns over, eyes widening at the sight of Mulder in her bed, William between them.

“Were you scared of the closet monsters, too?”

“Yeah,” Mulder clears his throat. “Yeah, your mom’s, uh, good at scaring away the closet monsters.”

“You have a boo-boo,” Will says, reaching up to touch the bandage on Mulder’s temple.

“I fell.”

“Ouchie,” Will sympathizes. “Kiss it better?”

Mulder nods, tipping his head down to let the boy place a kiss over the bandage.

“Will, it’s still night,” Scully whispers. “Time to sleep.”

William wiggles under the covers, throwing an arm over Mulder’s chest. “Fox, will you be here when I wake up?”

“Um,” he says, looking over the boy’s head to meet Scully’s eyes. “I don’t—“

“Sure he will, baby,” she murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”

“Wanna play more LEGOs,” the boy says sleepily, yawning a warm breath against Mulder’s side. Soon his chest rises and falls in deep, regular intervals.

“Thank you,” Mulder whispers into the half-light.

Scully runs her fingers along the length of his forearm, just shy of tickling, her touch all at once arousing and comforting. She yawns and turns over, her words muffled by the pillow.

“You can get up with him in the morning.”


	13. Chapter 13

He finds himself at her door, hair matted to his forehead with heavy rain, coat sagging on his shoulders. She answers in her robe, tired eyes speaking volumes, only mildly surprised at his presence.

“Mulder? I saw you on the news last night…did you just get back?”

He nods.

“Come in,” she says, stepping aside, and his footsteps feel as heavy as his heart. He bypasses her without speaking, heading for Will’s room.

“Mulder?”

The door creaks slightly, but the boy doesn’t stir. He’s sleeping, long limbs splayed out across the bed, blankets tangled around his waist. He’s grown; tall for five, always stretching the limits of his clothes. In sleep, his face is slack, soft and young, a trace of babyhood fading fast.

He doesn’t know how long he stands at Will’s bedside, watching him breathe, before Scully touches his wrist.

“Mulder,” she whispers.

He doesn’t answer, mesmerized by the rise and fall of their son’s chest. Eventually she leads him out of the room, closing the door. He stands, still dripping, in the hall. She seems to know what to do. His jacket slides off easily, but his shirt is soaked through.

“I walked,” he mumbles, as she loosens his tie, begins undoing the buttons.

“I can see that,” she says, not asking why, or from where. “Stay here, I’ll get you a towel.”

She does, grabbing a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt, too. He changes into the dry clothes, listens to the sounds of her footsteps in the kitchen, the bedroom, and back as he runs over the details in his mind for the hundredth time.

When the bodies turned up in the Florida Glades, he and Doggett were called in to profile the killer whose appetite preferred little boys.

Since then, he’d told six families that their children were never coming back. He can still remember their expressions, their grief raw and festering like open wounds, how it poured over him and soaked in like the rain.

Weeks of leads and interviews followed, sweltering in the oppressive humidity as the pieces came together, until he could no longer tell his thoughts from the killer’s. It had been years since he’d let a case absorb him so completely; fueled by little more than coffee and the weight of his responsibilities, he withdrew into a darkness so deep that even Scully’s name flashing anxiously on his phone wasn’t enough to bring him back to the light.

Until finally, it was over.

The last victim was three years old, the youngest yet, taken from the ten-by-five patch of grass behind his parents’ trailer, left for dead in a culvert behind the mall. It was a sloppy kill made in haste, unplanned, the one that broke the case, but it didn’t feel like a victory.

“I needed to see him,” he says, coming out of his reverie.

She sits beside him, concern written in her features. “You don’t usually have such a hard time getting out of someone’s head.”

His mouth feels cotton-like, his tongue thick. “This one hit a little close to home.”

“How is Doggett?”

Mulder ducks his head. “Doesn’t want to talk about it. I don’t blame him. He’s lived it.”

“So have you.”

“Not like this, Scully,” he whispers, drawing his hand over his face. “With Sam…it’s not the same. They were so young. They didn’t know what was coming. I don’t know if that makes it worse…”

She murmurs an assent as her hand finds his.

“We’ve seen the same things, Scully,” he whispers finally. “How do you do it?”

She takes a breath, looks toward Will’s room. “You push it down. You put it away…you wake up and make breakfast and…you just do it. For him.”

“What happens if you can’t?”

She looks at him sadly. “You don’t have that choice.”

He closes his eyes. He barely feels her hand on his back, her other hand at the back of his neck, drawing him closer until his face is buried in her hair, doesn’t realize he’s crying until a sob rips itself from his throat.

 

****

 

He curls his body around hers, intending to sleep, exhaustion pulling him under, only to resurface with a gasp. He counts his breaths, thinks of his hands around William’s throat, the darkness that followed him into his dreams.

“Shh,” Scully’s voice is in his ear, her fingers stroking his back. The way she touches him, as though he might break under the lightest pressure, is enough to stir something in him. Anger at the surface, with hunger and longing beneath.

He captures her mouth with his, no warnings given as his tongue probes at her lips, her teeth, her tongue. His hands find her hips, gripping them, turning her until her back is pressed to his chest, a coil of pleasure snaking through his belly as his growing erection presses against the curve of her ass.

He resumes his work on her neck, tasting and biting his way to the shell of her ear, eliciting a gasp as he suckles at the lobe, then traces his way down to the hollow of her throat.

“Mulder,” she murmurs, half question, half request, and he curves his body over hers to claim her lips again, hands working their way down to cup her left breast under her shirt, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Her t-shirt rides up, exposing the soft skin of her stomach, the gentle swell of her breasts. He wants to lose himself there, in the space just under her heart.

She’s panting when he finally releases her mouth, intent on the drawstring at the front of her pants, sliding beneath the elastic to find her warm and wet at the center. Now it’s his turn to moan as one finger slips lightly along the juncture at her thighs, teasing, testing.

Her leg comes around his hips, pushing her body forward to meet his touch, rubbing against his erection until he can’t focus, his ministrations between her legs becoming erratic.

“You,” he growls when he can finally speak, pushing two fingers inside. She gasps, stilling under the sudden onslaught, the pressure around his fingers sweet and fluttering. “Need you.”

“I know,” she soothes, tipping her head up to kiss him again, long and deep and loving, and this is all the invitation he needs. He tugs at her sweats, yanking them as far as her knees, before working on his own, suddenly desperate to connect, to ground himself inside her, the only one who can bring him home.

He eases inside, only allowing himself the briefest pleasure before reaching around to cup her mons, touching the slick spot where they’re joined, drawing his fingers back and up to make gentle circles around her quivering bud, reveling in the hiss of breath between her teeth and the pulse of her heat around him.

You, he thinks. You, you, you. His hips thrust a shallow, aching rhythm in time with his fingers, until they’re both openly panting, her hand cupping the back of his neck, breasts swaying with each thrust.

“Please,” she whimpers, pressing her back against him until he’s as deep as possible, and he rocks his hips up in swift, jerky movements, two fingers slipping back and forth across her clit until she arches against him, her walls pulsing and fluttering as she stifles a cry.

He lets her come down, the tension slowly easing from her body until she’s supple and yielding against him. He loses himself in the scent of her skin and the warmth of her breath on his cheek, ignoring the throbbing ache in his groin.

“Mm,” she says, tipping her head up to look at him, but he can’t open his eyes. She shifts against him and his hips give an involuntary jerk, eliciting a muffled moan from his lips.

She shifts again, this time intentionally bringing them together. “Mulder…look at me.”

He grunts, burying his face in her shoulder as the pleasure threatens to take hold, as her hips work against him, her hand reaching between them, and he opens his eyes to the sight of her touching herself, and the feeling of her fingers dancing around the base of his cock, stroking, stroking, until he’s shuddering.

“Look at me,” she says, her voice thick with lust, and he meets her eyes, his breathing now ragged. “Come. Come back to me,” she whispers, and he does.

 

****

 

“Fox!”

He blinks awake with enough warning before a sprawling weight lands on his chest, limbs and tousled hair clad in spaceman pajamas.

“Oof. Hey, buddy,” he mutters, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re back! Didja get me anything?”

“William!” Scully mumbles a warning from the other side of the bed. “That’s rude.”

“Sorry,” the boy grins sheepishly. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, kid,” Mulder says, as Will wraps his arms around his neck and squeezes.

“You were gone a long time.”

“Yeah…your mom told you I had to work.”

Will nods solemnly. “She said you caught the bad guy, but it’s not the same as Superman, because Superman is imaginary, and you’re a real FBI agent.”

“Uh, right.”

“Hey, can we go to the park today? Can you show me how to shoot a three-pointer at basketball like we did the last time? And do that thing where you put me on your shoulders so I can slam dunk?”

Will can barely contain himself, wriggling about as he fires off questions.

“Um, sure.”

“Right now?”

He opens his mouth to protest, but finds himself smiling instead. “Sure. Get dressed and we’ll go to the park.”

“Yay! Can we get pancakes after? With blueberry syrup?”

“Yeah, sure. Pancakes it is.”

Will races off, his voice carrying down the hall.

Scully leans over, her fingers grazing the soft hairs at the center of his chest as she kisses him.

“Good morning,” she whispers. “You OK?”

“I don’t know yet,” he murmurs, looking toward the door where they can hear Will running around in his room. “But…it’s like you said. I have to be, so I will be. For him.”


	14. Chapter 14

The earthy smells of leather and spring grass mix with the heady aromas of fried dough and popcorn, circling in the stands as they watch the players disperse across the field to take their places in the bottom of the ninth. It’s the perfect day for a game of baseball, the perfect sixth birthday present for a certain boy with bright blue eyes and a profile that grows more distinguished with every year.

“No butter?” Mulder asks, wrinkling his nose as he takes a handful of Will’s popcorn. “Your mom is rubbing off on you.”

Will shrugs, watching as the Oriole’s first hitter steps up to the plate; not Mulder’s team, but Scully nixed the idea of taking him across state lines for a baseball game, even if it was major league.

“Maybe he can see the Yankees for his tenth birthday, Mulder,” she’d said. For now, Camden Park would have to do.

Mulder leans back, takes another handful of popcorn, resisting the urge to reach over and ruffle Will’s fluffy brown hair.

“Fox?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you live with my mom?”

There’s a sharp _crack_ as the ball makes contact with the bat, a hiss of excitement ripples through the crowd, but Mulder’s attention is elsewhere.

“Uh, what?”

“Mom says it’s because we’re not a traditional nuclear family, but I don’t know what that means.”

“It, uh…it means—“

A wild cheer goes up as the announcers call the home run, and Will looks up at Mulder with his mother’s eyes.

“Um,” he falters. “Hey, are you hungry? Wanna get a snack?”

“But we just got popcorn,” Will reminds him, holding up his red-and-white-striped bag.

“Yeah, but I need a drink, don’t you? And maybe a hot dog.”

“Mom says I shouldn’t eat the hot dogs here, they have too many—“

“Nitrites, yeah, I know, but just one won’t hurt,” he says, already taking Will’s hand, leading them through the cheering stadium and out to the concessions, vacant except for the cashier.

“Do you want a Coke?” Mulder says, digging in his pocket for his wallet.

“I’m not supposed to have—“

“Yeah, I know caffeine isn’t good for you.“

“No, I’m not supposed to have _soda_. It’s not good for your teeth,” Will says, grinning broadly to prove the point.

“Right. OK, how about, uh, M&M’s. Can you have those?”

Will’s face lights up. “Yes! Peanuts, please.”

“That’ll be two bottles of water, a hot dog, and M&M’s, the yellow ones,” Mulder tells the cashier, sliding a twenty across the counter. They walk away with their food, settling on a nearby bench.

“So why don’t you live with my mom?”

“You’re not going to let me get out of this, are you?” Mulder asks, frowning as he smears mustard on the hot dog.

“Nope,” Will says, picking out the red candies first. A muted cheer rises up from the crowd in the stadium behind them; another run, it sounds like.

“You know, a lot of parents don’t live together. My parents were divorced.”

“I know. But you’re not divorced from Mom.”

“No…I’m not.”

“And you helped Mom have me, right?”

“I did.”

“So I don’t get it. If you’re the sperm, that makes you my dad…right?”

Mulder coughs, struggles to swallow his food. “It’s, uh, complicated, Will. Being a dad’s not just about, uh, sperm and ova,” he says, looking around self-consciously. “It’s about…spending time with you. Being there for you.”

“You spend time with me.”

“I do, but…but…your mom makes the rules,” he says. “She takes care of you every day. All the time.”

“So why don’t you?”

“I…” he hesitates, struggling to find an answer as people begin to stream out of the stands in droves. “I think we just missed the game.”

 

****

 

The drive home is quieter than usual. Twice, Mulder opens his mouth to break the silence, but closes it again, unsure of what to say.

When they get to Scully’s apartment, Will runs inside, firing off a perfunctory, “Hi Mom thanks Fox!” before disappearing into his room.

“How’d it go?” Scully asks, checking something in the oven, wiping her hands on a towel. The table is strewn with a mix of files, research, and classwork, and Mulder clears off a corner to sit down.

“It, uh, it went great. Baltimore won,” he adds, frowning at one of the files. “Or so I’m told.”

“So you’re told?”

“Yeah, we got sidetracked. Your son,” he says, “would like to know why his mom and ‘the sperm’ don’t live together.”

“Ahh,” she sighs. “That again.”

“Again?”

“I’ve told him—”

“That we’re not a traditional nuclear family?”

“Glad to know he’s listening.”

Mulder snorts. “He’s listening, alright. He asked why I’m not his father.”

This seems to quiet her. “What did you say?”

“I couldn’t answer him, Scully. I wanted to, but…I’m not…I mean, I love him. But…”

She watches him, waiting out an endless pause as he tries to make sense of his thoughts.

“My dad wasn’t there,” he says. “And it only got worse after Sam was taken. He and I never talked. We fought when I got older, and I rarely saw him after the divorce. I had more reasons to be mad at him than I knew, but…all I saw was a man who couldn’t wait to get away from me.”

“Mulder…you’re not your father.”

“Maybe not. But he didn’t exactly set the best example, and Will deserves better than what I had.”

“Isn’t that what every parent wants for their child?” she counters. “Maybe Will knows what he needs.”

“He’s just a kid—”

“He’s _your_ kid, Mulder,” she returns, causing him to look up. “Ours,” she continues more softly. “And he’s smart. Too smart, sometimes.”

He considers this, watching as her face flicks through a hundred different emotions before settling somewhere between nostalgia and rumination.

“There’s a reason I asked you…and it wasn’t all your spotless genetic make-up,” she says, smiling a little. “It’s because I knew you’d be here. If that doesn’t make you his father, I don’t know what does.”

“I don’t—“

They’re interrupted by Will’s footsteps. “Mom? I’m hungry.”

“Dinner’s in the oven.”

Will wrinkles his nose, sniffing the air. “Is it chicken again?”

“Mmhm. No complaints,” she says, interrupting as he opens his mouth to protest. “You need something more filling than popcorn and M&Ms.”

“But peanuts have protein!” Will objects.

“It doesn’t count when they’re covered in chocolate. Go wash up, we’ll eat soon.”

She waits until Will is gone, then turns back to Mulder, lowering her voice. “Before he was born, you told me you wanted whatever made me happy, but that goes both ways. I’m grateful to have you in Will’s life in any capacity…but don’t underestimate what you are to him, Mulder. He deserves better than that.”

 

****

 

“Scully? You awake?”

“Mmm, barely,” she murmurs, turning toward him, nuzzling his throat.

He’s curled around her in the bed he still thinks of as hers, even though he hasn’t slept at his own apartment in months. He’s not sure why he still pays the rent for a place that does little more than act as a receptacle for junk mail and houses his fish. Even Will has stopped asking if he’s staying for dinner, and last week Scully suggested clearing a spot in the living room for the fish tank.

He clears his throat. “I was thinking about what you said…before dinner.”

“What about it?”

“Do you think that’s what Will wants? For me to be his dad?”

“Mulder,” she sighs, her breath warm against his chest. “You already are. That’s what I was trying to say.”

“I know, but…is that what _you_ want?”

She tips her head up to look at him, bemused. “For such a brilliant man, you can be incredibly dense, you know.”

He forces a smile, a flutter beginning deep in his stomach. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

“I think you can use your exceptional powers of deductive reasoning to figure that out for yourself, Mulder.”

He pauses, thinking. She’d never make it easy; it was part of the reason he loved her, after all. He swallows hard, gathering his courage.

“Scully?”

“Mmhmm?”

His mouth is dry, his lips can barely form the words, because he’s only dimly aware of what he’s about to say: “Marry me.”

She snorts into his chest, and his heart falls, the bottom dropping out.

“On one condition,” she says, looking up at him, brow furrowed in grave sincerity. “Please teach your son to put the toilet seat down. If I fall in one more time, so help me God, I’ll kill you both.”

He blinks, watching as her expression melts into a grin. “For the record, that’s a ‘yes’. Now, can I get some sleep?”

“I…uhh…sure, Scully,” he stammers, wondering if the exchange actually happened, or if this is a bizarre dream. Then he feels her smile, sealing the deal with a kiss to his throat. The way her lips tease along the stubbled line of his jaw creates a sensation too vivid to be anything but real.

“I love you, Mulder,” she says. “And I’m serious about the toilet seat thing.”

He chuckles, murmuring into her hair, “Duly noted. Love you, too.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Why do I have to wear this dumb suit?”

“We’ve been over this, Will.”

The boy wrinkles his nose, tugging at his sleeves. “It barely fits!”

“It’s a little tight,” Scully sighs. “You’ve grown. But not enough to get out of wearing it today.”

“Ugh. Can’t I just wear a t-shirt?”

“Not this time, kid,” Mulder says, adjusting his own tie, bending down to do the same for Will.

“I’ll be right back, I forgot my necklace,” Scully says, heading for the bedroom.

Mulder lowers his voice, leaning in so only Will can hear. “You have the…thing…right?”

The boy nods and pats his pants pocket.

“Good.”

“Are we ready?” Scully interrupts, returning.

“As we’ll ever be,” Mulder stands, placing a hand on Will’s shoulder.

The courthouse is too warm, a brick building baking in the summer sun. The woman at the front desk apologizes for the suffocating heat—the air conditioning in the lobby is broken—and points them to the waiting area, where Maggie is already seated. She wastes no time fussing over Will and Scully.

Doggett arrives a few minutes later, gruff and stoic in his work clothes.

“Sorry I’m late. _Someone_ left me with a pile of paperwork to finish up,” he mutters.

“Doggett!” Will jumps up. “Look at my suit!”

“Hey, kid,” he returns, holding up his hand for a high-five. “Nice threads.”

“Thanks for coming,” Mulder says. “And for handling Kersh.”

“You owe me,” Doggett says, then lowers his voice. “You ready for this?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Doggett chuckles, clapping his partner on the shoulder before taking a seat.

Mulder watches Will fidget with his collar. Maggie frowns as he wiggles at the knot of his tie. Mulder gives him a sympathetic smile, wishing he could loosen his own tie asbutterflies dance in his stomach.

Finally it’s their turn. The judge’s chambers are blessedly cool; she waves them in, introducing herself, offering Will a mint from the candy dish on her desk.

“Just the marriage, correct?” she asks.

“And the Affidavit of Parentage,” Scully says, looking too serious for the occasion in a simple spring green dress.

“Yes, right,” the judge says, peering over her glasses. “It looks like everything is in order. Shall we get started?”

They nod. Scully takes Mulder’s hands, raising an eyebrow when she finds them slightly damp.

“Sorry,” he mouths, feeling like a sixteen-year-old with his prom date. Her grasp is cool and familiar, calming, and the judge begins to read the vows.

Mulder reaches into his jacket pocket as they reach the end of the ceremony, and Scully’s eyes widen.

“Mulder, we said we weren’t going to do rings,” she hisses, as he gently tugs at her hand, pulling it closer so he can anchor the tiny gold band on her finger. “I didn’t get anything—“

“Don’t worry about it, Scully,” he says, gesturing for Will.

Will grins and holds out his fist, dropping a larger gold band into her palm. Scully gapes at him, then at Mulder, as the judge tries to hide a smirk.

“He wanted to,” Mulder shrugs. “I couldn’t argue.”

“Sure you couldn’t,” she mutters, but there’s a smile in her eyes as she slips the ring on his finger. When the judge suggests a kiss, Mulder’s cheeks come back wet.

“Hey, now,” he teases at the shell of her ear. “It wasn’t that bad.”

She snorts, wiping at her eyes. “Shut up, Mulder.”

“And now…the romantic part,” the judge says wryly, holding up a sheaf of paperwork. “This formalizes the marriage and amends the birth certificate. Witnesses, please.”

It’s just a few signatures, but something about the way Will looks up at him as he handles the papers makes Mulder’s throat tighten. His hand shakes slightly as he signs his name.

When it’s over, they walk into the bright summer sun, snapping a few photos before saying their congratulations and goodbyes. Soon it’s the three of them standing in front of the courthouse, Scully’s fingers laced with Mulder’s, Will rushing ahead, one liberated tie dangling from his fist.

“We should celebrate,” Mulder says, looking across the street, where a diner’s sign flashes neon. “How about ice cream?”

“Yeah! Ice cream!” Will hops up and down, nearly tripping over his feet.

The booths are old-fashioned vinyl, the chrome-rimmed table shabby with age. It’s not a fancy reception, but it suits them, reminds him of their roots.

“Mom, can I get a sundae? With chocolate?”

Scully frowns, as if mentally counting the grams of sugar, then relaxes. “Sure. Try not to get it on your shirt, though.”

When the ice cream arrives, they waste no time, eager for a brief respite from the summer heat. Mulder looks over at Will in between bites of his cone, the boy’s eyes wide at the sight of so much chocolate under a mountain of whipped cream.

He turns back to Scully, whose brownie sundae is getting similar treatment. Soon she and Will have matching chocolate smudges on their chins—like mother, like son, Mulder thinks, chuckling to himself.

“What?” she asks.

“It’s nothing,” he says, reaching across the table with a napkin to dab at the spot on her chin. “Marveling at the mysteries of genetics.”

She narrows her eyes, smirking, but lets him wipe the remaining chocolate from her face.

“Do I have to call you ‘dad’ now, Fox?” Will asks through a mouthful of hot fudge.

“You can, if you want. You don’t have to.”

The boy thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah. You’re still Fox.”

Mulder pulls the boy to his side for a hug, kissing the top of his head. Will shrugs, distracted by his sundae, as Scully’s eyes shine across the table. Mulder meets her gaze, feels the weight of the last six years catch up with him in a single glance.

He ducks his head, suddenly overwhelmed, his next words whispered to the table, to the ring on his finger, to the boy—his son—sitting beside him.

“Thanks, kid. I’ll always be your Fox.”


End file.
